The Watchers
by lightofthenine
Summary: Lucifer isn't the only being to rise if the seals are broken. The angels turn to Cat Inoa, the only one with the knowledge to stop the Nephilim from rising. But they're hiding something, and she knows it. Along with her angel, she teams up with the Winchesters to stop the Apocalypse, and learns some terrible secrets along the way. Slightly AU.


**March 7, 2003**

**Alexandria, Virginia**

Cat would have preferred that her sister go anywhere else for spring break. Of all of the places to choose, she picked Alexandria, Virginia, as her destination. Her sister told her over AIM that her friends were pestering her to travel with them to Florida for their week long break, but she vehemently turned them town. Apparently coming back to the place she hated the most was more interesting than examining the local Floridians. If Cat was a second year graduate student, she would have picked Florida over boring Virginia, considering the substantial amount of rain pouring down outside.

She sat at her computer alone, typing up a paper for her Biology class. Every time voices rose downstairs she would wince, her shoulders tensing, and her fingers would fall still while she waited to hear what would happen next. She wanted to rush downstairs and see what was happening, but according to the clock on the computer screen, her mother would be up in twenty minutes to make sure she was writing her paper.

Dalia, her older sister, had been home only two days, and already the fights between her and their parents had started without a delay. The argument generally centered around the same subject matter, that being Dalia's decision to study religion at university. Dalia - smart and headstrong - made the decision without much deliberation, and her parents hated her for it. They didn't necessarily need to say anything, but Dalia knew that her parents were forever disappointed in her decision to study "non-existent angels" over mechanical engineering.

But Dalia was too stubborn to accept what society wanted her to do. From the moment Dalia entered the world, it was a given that she would be different. Eccentric. She was the one who wore brightly colored tights, usually neon pink, underneath her skirts, and sang loudly in the hallways without caring who was listening. She never did anything anyone expected.

So when Dalia announced to her a few years ago that she was studying religion, all Cat could so was give her a weary smile and say, "Whatever makes you happy, Dee." And that was all she truly cared about: making sure her sister was happy. Dalia was the older sister, the caretaker, but when it came to her happiness, Cat always made sure she came first.

Cat shifted uncomfortably in her wooden computer chair and squinted at the glowing computer screen in front of her. Her chair was never comfortable, and even though she had pestered her parents for years to buy a more comfortable chair, they refused, claiming that their money had to go towards Dalia and her college degree.

The voices had died down at last. There was nothing more difficult for her than trying to focus on school when her parents and sister were at odds again. She wished more than ever that Dalia would pack up her things and leave for bright, sunny, happy Florida. _Just go away, _Cat thought to herself, typing again. _Just go be happy. _Cat could handle her stuffy, over-bearing parents; she had for 15 years.

Halfway through her second body paragraph, Cat hear the front door close, and the sound echoed throughout the house. She jumped in her chair, her gaze turning to her bedroom door. In a matter of seconds, she was at the top of the stairs, and sank into a crouch, peering around the angle where the ceiling and banister met, to look into the living room. Her parents stood in front of the large, wooden door where presumable, Dalia had just rushed out of. They stood next to each other, both of their fists curled tightly, and then her mother sighed loudly, her frail shoulders dropping. Instantly, her father rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and murmuring words she couldn't understand, directed her mother to the kitchen.

Her mother was still shaking her head when they disappeared. Cat looked once more at the front door, through the small window that showed the street outside. Wherever Dalia had gone, she had left in a hurry. All she could see was the house across the street.

Anger bubbled up and spilled over; she turned on her heel and went back upstairs to her room. Again, her parents had managed to drive Dalia away. When were they ever going to learn that she just wasn't going to listen? She was too headstrong, too determined. If they kept pressuring her to abandon her dreams, it would only drive Dalia away, and one day she wouldn't return.

Cat knew though, that even if Dalia did leave, she would come back, and it'd be for her. Dalia often promised that once she had a nice, high-paying job as a research, she would come find Cat and take her home. Together they would have movie nights and eat ice cream and laugh. They wouldn't have to worry about their mother, with her sharp facial features and beady little eyes, watching them. They would both be happy.

* * *

Later that night, the Inoas received a call from the APD.

Bill Inoa had been sitting downstairs in the den on the computer, searching online for mechanical engineering programs in hopes that Dalia would see the light. He let the phone ring twice before picking it up, assuming that the Police Department was trying to harass him for not paying parking tickets. He hadn't expected a gruff voice on the other end to tell him that his eldest daughter was dead, killed when an SUV ran a red light.

Cat was woken roughly by her father, who managed to say thickly, "Dalia's been in an accident. We have to go." She threw on whatever she could find, and stumbled down the stairs after her father, nearly tripping down the stairs at least twice. Her mother was in the car already, staining the steering wheel with her tears. Cat didn't bother to console her on the drive to King Street. She blocked out the sounds of her parents blaming each other.

"You should have listened to her more!"

"_You _should have listened to her more!"

Her father hadn't explicitly said that Dalia was dead, but from the way they already began talking about her in the past tense, she didn't need much explaining.

The argument continued even as they got out of their 4-person SUV, stepping into the frigid rigid that fell at astounding speeds, blinding their vision. The flashing red and blue lights was the only thing that guided them to the scene of the accident.

There was the large, black SUV, the kind that celebrities escaped from parties in. There were four police cars, complete with their own police officer, somber looks on their faces, and a crying man who knelt on the wet pavement, staring blankly at the white sheet that covered Dalia's body. At the sight, Cat's mother let out a wail and her father cursed, turning away. Cat stopped a few meters away, and let the cold rain soak through the sweater Dalia had given her for her 15th birthday.

**March 19, 2009 (Present)**

**Alexandria, Virginia**

Cat's cell beeped for the third time. She reached into her pocket and spared it a casual glance, looking for a name. _Dom, _the screen displayed.

She pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose and tucked the phone back into her pocket and turned her attention back to her computer, blowing air out of the side of her mouth. Dom had called her at least twice today, and she studiously ignored him, choosing instead to scroll endlessly through pages of text. It was the weirdest thing; even though she purposely put on her Facebook page that she was going to spend the whole day studying, people continued to call her and bombard her with texts, asking to go to lunch or go to the mall. _It's not rocket science. _

She sat alone in her room, her laptop in front of her, a notepad to her right and a pen in her hand, with piles upon piles of books on her desk surrounding her. Others would find her study habits weird, but she felt a certain kind of peace surrounded by the books. It made her feel incredibly studious, but it also made her feel like she was doing something worthwhile. Her definition of "worthwhile" wasn't deemed valid by her parents, but it was to her.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she clicked on another link that would take her to another webpage, hopefully with more information on Enochian sigils. Cat chewed absently on the end of a pen, devouring the information.

For most of the day she stayed in her apartment, sometimes leaving her room for a quick snack, or a mental break. Since eight in the morning, she'd been pouring over old photocopies of the journal of John Dee, a European explorer who supposedly made contact with angels and learned their language. She'd managed to make some copies of his journal a few months ago during a stay in England where she interned as a research assistant.

Ironically, it was the same research position that her sister, Dalia, had accepted a few years ago before she died. She'd come home to tell her family of her good news, but Cat's overbearing parents wasted no time expressing their disappointment in her decision. Their refusal to accept her led to her death, and to this day, Cat still blamed them for her demise. To show how furious she was with them, after graduating high school she went to university and promptly changed her major from mathematics to religion. Her parents exploded, but she refused to let them belittle her, and graduated with several degrees. To anger them further, she cut her hair, and had been wearing a pixie cut ever since. The few friends she had commented that it highlighted her sharp facial features, and drew attention to her blue eyes.

Cat's phone beeped again and she groaned, pulling it out of her pocket to see who it was. _Dr. Leveque, _the screen showed. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Good morning, Catherine," Robert Leveque's voice boomed from the other end of the line. "How are you today?"

Cat couldn't help but smile at the sound of her old religion professor. "Good, Dr. Leveque, how are you?"

"Great. Listen, I was just calling to check up on you, see how you're doing! How's the research coming?" Cat's eyes darted to the half-empty notebook on the table, filled with her scratchy handwriting.

"Good, good..." she murmured. "Really good. I got back from England a few months ago. It was great."

"Great," Leveque said again. "Listen, the real reason I was calling, or than to check up on you, of course, is to ask whether you'd be willing to come back to your old alma mater and give a quick talk for one of my classes." Cat stared out of the small window in front of her desk with surprise.

"Give a talk?"

"Just a quick talk, 45 minutes max, just explain about your research. What you're doing and how you got to where you are today. You know how it is, Catherine," Leveque added, sighing. "Religion isn't as popular as mechanical engineering or business. These students need a boost, need to know that there's a job out there for them somewhere! And truthfully, you're my best example."

Cat was flattered. She smiled to herself. "Yes, okay. I'll swing by."

Leveque laughed on the other side with excitement. "Fantastic. The department chair will be happy to see you. This Friday, 2:15 p.m.?"

"Sounds great."

"I'll see you then. Thanks, Catherine. See you real soon."

That just meant she'd have to actually get her notes and research in order. She glanced over her shoulder at the notebooks that rested on her bed. _I might actually have to clean, _she thought with amusement, standing up. She glanced at the clock on her computer and decided that it was time to take a study break, or as she often called it, a "food break."

When she wasn't hunched over a computer, she was usually snacking on junk food. Luckily for her, she inherited her mother's skinny genes, and never seemed to gain a pound considering the amount of Kit Kats she ingested. Her mother was frail, thin, and exuded a kind of restlessness that made her believe that her mother never slept or took a break for just about anything. She'd always been that way, and since Dalia died, she had become worse. Cat didn't really keep in contact much with her parents, aside from the usual birthday and holiday wishes. After graduation, she chose to remain in Virginia but settled on another side of town away from her parents. She could only assume that her parents knew why she refused to visit them.

Some of her friends, who knew about Dalia's death, chastised her, saying that she was childish for choosing to sever her ties with her parents over the accident. Of course, they didn't truly know the whole story, and they probably never would.

Cat found a half-empty box of Wheat Thins in her kitchen and set to munching on them while flicking through her notebook. She leaned on the large, white counter in the center of her kitchen, popping the tiny crackers into her mouth. To fill the silence in her apartment, she turned on the small television that rested in the corner next to her microwave. The morning news came on, and she raised her eyes from her notebook to peer over her black, thick rimmed glasses at the screen.

"The gas station had been leveled, and dozens of bodies were found when police arrived." A female news reporter stood in front of yellow police tape, and police cars flashed in the background. She glanced over her shoulders at the flashing red and blue lights. "Police and the FBI are currently investigating the source of the explosion, and to determine if it was the cause of death. We now have an _exclusive _clip for you. Some of these scenes may be inappropriate for young children."

"Then don't show it," Cat muttered to herself, lowering her eyes to her journal again. "That's not a hard decision."

"Closer, closer!" the woman's voice hissed with urgency, and Cat looked up at the television screen again, curious. The cameraman was hunched in a thicket of bushes, it seemed, and was trying to poke the lenses between the leaves. When the bushes cleared, Cat was able to see two policemen who stood around one of the dead bodies. They stood with their backs turned to the camera.

"Ever seen anything like it?" one of the muttered, shaking his head. "What is it, the mark of a serial killer?"

"I don't know," the other one, bigger and bulkier than his partner. "Might be. I'll have to send snapshots to the FBI and see if they have anything for this. This is _way _above my paygrade," he added uncomfortably. "Where's the guy with the camera?"

"Somewhere back by the gas station." They left, muttering to themselves. At that point, Cat had abandoned her wheat thins and notebook, and leaned on the counter with interest, wondering what was so "exclusive" about the clip.

The cameraman stood up, and at the reporter's urging, crept over the bushes, closer to the body. When he got close enough, the camera zoomed in. "What the heck?" the man muttered, the lenses focusing and un-focusing several times. It was a woman, wearing a blue blouse and pants; her arms were laid out on either side, and her torso was twisted at an awkward angle. In the middle of her torso, there was a hole, leaking blood. Then, the camera panned out, and on either side of her were two black wings that extended directly from her shoulders. It looked like they were burned into the ground, or at least filled in with soot, or charcoal.

The cameraman and reporter were both silent, and so was Cat. She stared at the body, and the wings with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen. If there had only been a dead body, she might not have been so intrigued. But the two large, black wings captured her interest more than anything.

The scene switched, and the reporter, who looked shaken, announced that she had several interview from witnesses to the accident.

Cat finished munching on a few more crackers, and then retreated back up to her room.

* * *

A/N: Disclaimer! Only the original characters are mine, everything else for the most part belongs to Overlord Kripke.

This is my first time writing for Supernatural. Please leave reviews and/or constructive criticism! It's greatly appreciated.


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